


Way Down Goodetown

by LookIntoMyTelescope



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse, American Horror Story: Coven
Genre: A little sex but not much, Angst, Cordelia is Hades, F/F, Hadestown AU, Madison is Orpheus, Misty is Persephone, Mostly just deceit, So much angst, Zoe Is Eurydice, Zoe kinda dies but does she really?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-09 14:24:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17408567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LookIntoMyTelescope/pseuds/LookIntoMyTelescope
Summary: It's a Hadestown AU of American Horror Story because I'm a stereotypical gay who loves Broadway and AHS.Clearly, there is some angst because it's Hadestown, but I'll try to soften the blow for you.





	1. Road To Hell

The sky was overcast and smoke-filled as the story opened outside a dilapidated train station, where no train had been for at least the last six months. There was a crowd of bedraggled and hungry looking people waiting just outside the station, pawing through each other to get a better view of the obsidian train spewing steam from its smokestack. As if from a supernatural force, sprouts started shooting up from the dust and rubble of winter, and the crowd began to excite more. In the back of the crowd, begging for a match, was a young woman bound up in a thin coat, her light brown hair whipping in the wind as she thankfully snatched a match from some helpful member of the crowd. Her face cracked into a rare smile as she departed from the crowd. She turned one last time to look at the station and made eye contact with three old women waiting by the track. 

 

The three old women were The Fates, the deciders of any mortal’s life. Marie spun the thread of life, Myrtle measured out how long the mortal should live, and Fiona cut it with a great pair of silver shears when the mortal died. These old women had been in the back of many fool’s minds, talking them into their foolishness, twisting their threads for the fun of it. They knew the young woman Zoe was no fool, but they would find a way to sow doubt and impulsivity into the girl.

 

Ahead of the dark train, there was a young woman balancing on the tracks as she walked down them, unconcerned about the great machine behind her. She had been through this story before, and she would be through it again. The train wouldn’t hit her, that she knew. Goddesses can’t die by train, anyways. This goddess Mallory lead people down to their final resting place, often accompanying them on the train. She moved so quickly down the track, the crowd could swear she had wings on her feet. She settled down on the bench outside the station, waiting for the train to come.

 

After a while, the train pulled in. The train let out a whistle as the doors opened. A woman stepped out, a suitcase in hand. As her bare feet touched the ground, grass sprung up around her. The clouds parted, bringing out the sun for the first time in half a year. It shone on the woman’s curly blonde hair and brought the light back to her eyes. She opened the case, and pulled out bottles of wine and tossed them to revelers in the crowd.

 

“Don’t ask where I’ve been, it was like comin’ through hell to get back,” She snarled before letting out a scoffing laugh while reaching for the last bottle. She uncorked it and took a swig out. The taste didn’t bother her. It hadn’t bothered Misty for years. 

 

After the revelers and their goddess departed, there was one figure left near the station. A young woman sat on the train track, a guitar in her lap. The moonlight turned her golden hair to platinum as she tuned her guitar. She played her first chord and smirked as the cicadas fell silent. Her music was godlike, even though she was mortal. Her best song, her epic, wasn’t finished, but hopefully, it could keep the summer there longer.

 

This is the tale of Madison and Zoe.


	2. Any Way The Wind Blows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW// For fantasy gore and philosophy

 

Zoe shuddered as her coat neglected to keep the wind at bay. She knew how cruel the world was in the short years she had been there. Every year, winter grew longer and summer seemed to almost disappear before her eyes. Some years, she would be able to shack up with a group of travelers, but this year, she was woefully alone. There were only the voices in the back of her head to keep her company. They sang a song of mourning anytime the sun left and the wind picked up, but Zoe never paid this song much mind, opting instead to flee to the few forests that remained to gather firewood and salvage roots and berries for the incoming cold. She was one of the fortunate ones, she never had to deal with hurricanes or wildfires like the people living on the coasts. The ever-changing winds still chilled her, piercing through every hole in the heavily worn wool.

 

Zoe had been around for many years, more than any onlooker would expect out of the sickly, lanky young woman. She wasn’t immortal, but with every step taken away from her home, she could feel the air leak from her lungs, hear her heart skip a beat, see the color drain from her skin. She would stay young, sure, but her body would eventually give out. 

 

Zoe felt guilt for every fire she made. The matches were usually stolen from some passing vagabond, but the wood, the wood hurt her conscience more. Every time she sunk her ax into a tree, she could almost hear her fellow dryads cry out for mercy. Sap flowed onto her ax’s blade like fresh blood, and she frantically tossed each piece of timber into the flame as if it were a piece of rotting flesh onto a funeral pyre. The guilt would register for seconds before she shook it off. She had to survive. Everyone in this Godforsaken world had to survive, and if others didn’t make it, it wouldn’t matter to her. Few survivors ever have clean hands, and even fewer have clean consciouses. 

 

Years of hard work to survive had worn on her. Her usually optimistic, trusting nature had given rise to this snide cynicism towards her fellow mortals. She kept to herself, held her own. It was easier not to get hurt this way. Zoe stopped noticing the world around her, to her it was either materials to survive or useless. She knew only how to survive.

 

One late winter morning, Zoe woke up to the gentle strumming of a guitar. She looked down from her sleeping spot up on a tree bough to see who was making the noise. She noticed a young woman below her feet, tuning her guitar and fussing over some chords. Her bright blonde hair caught the winter sun, and its gleaming almost brought the summer back to Zoe. The guitarist’s eyes were closed, taking in the rare sun onto her almost glowing skin. She opened her eyes lazily, and her gaze quickly met Zoe’s. Zoe felt her face grow heated as she turned to climb down the tree. After scrambling down the trunk, Zoe turned to come face to face with the smug looking young woman. The blonde looked her over, and ceased playing, opting instead to sling the instrument back over her shoulder. The young musician then cleared her throat and spoke in a near whisper just inches from Zoe’s face.

 

“Do you wanna come home with me?”

**Author's Note:**

> Hey All! If you enjoyed, check out my Tumblr @nick-carraways-side-hoe and please leave a kudos and a comment, it helps me update faster!
> 
> Also, I know people who haven't listened to Hadestown might read this, but check it out! It's really good and bluesy.


End file.
